


Just half of one. The other half would have really missed you!

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Character Death, Other, Plus not every character death NEEDS to be gory., Southern Jonathan Crane, Surprise it's my trans!Jon Crane but younger, This could have been better but ehhhh I wrote this for a challenge thing., Trans Male Character, We cool with that? Okay. Thanks., non-white Keenys, non-white Scarecrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: Maybe...maybe some of us just make bad decisions our whole lives. Maybe we're born under a bad sign. Who's to say?Heavily inspired by Scarecrow: Year One, but not quite exact. Although yes, this does deal with the version of The Scarecrow I roleplay in the DC: A New Day group. ;) Also kudos to anyone who gets the reference in the title.





	Just half of one. The other half would have really missed you!

**Author's Note:**

> Rough translator's notes because A) I keep forgetting to do that when I have a non of non-English text in 1 thing, and B) most English-speaking people I know who also speak Chinese, outside of my own family, only speak Mandarin. 
> 
> yaoguai - malevolent spirits. Sometimes animals! Sometimes not! That's all you really need to know there.
> 
> Taai po - respectful way to refer to one's maternal great-grandmother. 
> 
> Sau seng - literally just "shut up", honestly.
> 
> Ai ya - extremely versatile. In my own family's case we tend to use it as an expression of disbelief/dismay/frustration
> 
> Pok gaai - Mary's calling him a bastard. By virtue of birthright, she is not wrong.

The floor still creaked. It was something to note, even if she was mainly focused on keeping herself upright as she slowly descended the central stairs; rail-thin arm locked around the gilded banister in a death grip. Oh, mistakes had most definitely been made this night. And they were going to continue to be made, if the sheer fact that she was more stubborn than a Pit Bull wasn’t indicative enough. 

Then again, was this _really_ a mistake? The law said yes, but then again here went the law, allowing people to treat their children like they were to be thrown out with the week’s trash. Maybe the law didn’t mean shit. It was only a shame that it had taken so long for her to realize. 

Granted, she wasn’t Mary Keeny’s child _anyway_. Biologically or otherwise. But, unfortunately by birthright, she was still related to the _yaoguai_. And you couldn’t choose your blood family; the world was not a Whitman’s candy sampler. But you _could_ disown them. 

Or kill them. Which is exactly what her at-times questionable impulse control had settled on. 

Thankfully, she hit the solid spot of the ground floor first; and stifled a sigh of relief, because trying to wrestle a nail-torn leg out of a distinct lack of subflooring would have quickly brought an end to the night’s plans. Whoever the Hell had built this manor for the Chans (-slash-Keenys, she supposed. That wasn’t something Ophelia particularly cared to dwell on; thank fuck for extensive records all the same) should have been fired towards the start of construction. At times, the whole place seemed as though it’d blow over in a strong wind. And as a child that had been wholly frightening. Tornadoes alone were fucking terrifying to a 7-year-old, but tornadoes coupled with a shittily-constructed house? Hmm. No thank you! That earned a very firm stamp of disapproval. 

But it wouldn’t matter soon. None of this would. Maybe she’d return to her birthplace at some future point, just to see what had happened to it over the years, but that prospect was far-off and hazy. A few more hours, and she’d be free. She’d…likely also have to move out of Georgia entirely, and maybe she could finally see someone about changing her name, but honestly neither of those were actual problems. There were crappier places she’d eked out a living in, and really those uncomfortable feelings about seeing herself in the hallway mirror (not to mention generally existing) were manageable most days. 

Key word being ‘most’. Something greater still stirred beneath that surface, burned and itched. One day it’d finally claw its way free. But not here. No, not here. Never here. Memories did tend to blur, but it remained clear that any form of dissent with Granny’s ideas had resulted in being nearly torn apart by trained corvids. She… _he_? He, maybe, was in danger the longer he stayed in this house. The longer _she_ was around. 

Whatever, the self-reference thing could be figured out later. Swept under the rug as a phase of some sort if need be. But, for now? Why not stick with it? Couldn’t hurt. 

Yeah, sure, killing an old woman wasn’t the best idea. But to a fairly sheltered, autistic 19-year-old with a need for some kind of rigid, yet simple instruction, it seemed good enough. Could have definitely been better, but in candor his whole living situation could have been better from the start. This was fair. An eye for an eye. A life for what was perhaps the ruins of one. Alright, _maybe_ that last sentence had sounded a little melodramatic, but people fresh out of legal teenagerhood were not often known to be logical. 

She wasn’t in the kitchen, he realized even before he’d crossed the threshold. Things were too quiet (even if he _was_ losing his hearing). Actually, his childhood dwelling in its entirety was too quiet. So that meant she wasn’t here. The aviary, maybe? Granny wasn’t one to go out and shop at night. That seemed to be the most likely option. And, looping back to the foyer again; would you look at that, the front door was ajar. 

He continued out of the house, closing but not latching the door behind him. The Georgian night was hot and heavy as usual, yet tonight it seemed oddly still. No crickets chirped. No occasional armadillo or possum crossed his path. Perhaps even the animals knew what was going to happen; holding their breaths in suspense. He took a moment to look up at the iron cage of the aviary, hands in his pockets. Steeled himself one last time. Then entered. 

“I was wondering when you would show up.” Near-instantly, his great-grandmother’s accented English floated over to him. In the faint light he could see that there was a crow perched on her right shoulder, dull feathers reflecting its age. “Suspected you would not come, even.” 

“ _Taai po_.” Maybe once she’d had his respect, earned through fear; but not now, not any longer. Still, old habits died hard. Kind of like how Mary would, soon enough. He didn’t have to be afraid of her now. Maybe he never had to be afraid of anything again. This ended tonight. 

She did not falter. That was the one thing he’d ever respected about her. “Ophelia. So this is how it will end.” 

“Well…yes.” And for a moment his tongue felt as heavy as lead. “Actually. _Sau seng_. If you don’t mind-“ how haughty –“I’d like to savor this. I don’t need you talking over me anymore. It ruins the mood.”

“You always were an arrogant child.” She murmured something to the bird then, and it quickly took flight, coming to rest in the rafters. 

“And who was it that raised me?” 

Pointedly, Mary didn’t answer. 

He took a deep breath; then locked eyes with her, unblinking. “I don’t have a real speech prepared, or anything like that. Just…wanted you to know. Maybe some of us get what we deserve, in the end. It was your mistake leaving me alive, and I’d like that to haunt you in your last moments. It’d only be fitting.”

On her side of things, the silence stretched on. And then suddenly it was broken. “ _Ai ya_! Don’t waste my time, _pok gaai_. Get on with your quest. Your mother did not shut her mouth, either.” 

Were she speaking to anyone else, they might’ve been provoked to react in anger. But Karen Keeny was as good as dead to him; had been as good as dead to him the moment she’d been ousted from her grandmother’s home and left a crying toddler behind. Parents? What parents? He had none of those. 

“If you say so.” A slim-wristed hand slipped from a worn coat pocket, and glass crashed to the straw-strewn floor. A signal, if nothing else. High above their heads, there was a fluttering of wings. “I’d apologize, but there ain’t no point.” Oh, he was _so_ going to be smacked into some kind of hell for this. He just wasn’t sure which one. Damned memory problems. 

She retained the dignity to not start screaming until he’d walked out of the aviary (fending off his fair share of crows along the way, mind you); the last he’d ever see of her would be a black-shrouded blur. Good riddance. He reached a hand up the back of his shirt, gently probing at the various ragged holes adorning his spinal column. Perhaps now he could focus on something other than trying to survive being eaten alive.


End file.
